


Day 10: Sex Injury

by fascinationex



Series: MEGASTAR-MAS 2020 [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Silly, megastarmas 2020, sex injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: Starscream’s wings were just suchtemptinghandles.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: MEGASTAR-MAS 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072040
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	Day 10: Sex Injury

Starscream’s wings were just such _tempting_ handles. 

The pair were in Megatron’s berth room, larger and grander than any other aboard the ship. It was dim, and the air was full of the harsh hiss of fans blowing, trying hard to cool down their frames. 

Megatron knew that Starscream would complain. He hated having his wings grabbed, pinched, pushed, grazed, rubbed, stroked or—basically anything harsher than a tongue was worth whining about, from Starscream’s perspective. 

But then, Starscream _always_ complained. It was one of the more immutable universal constants. 

And, really, if he didn’t want Megatron to grab hold of their edges and use them to heave his frame back, harder, grinding down upon his spike, why would he flutter them at him like that? 

Every time Megatron’s spike pushed into his valve, past the determined death-grip of each clenching caliper, Starscream’s powerful flight engine made a low growling noise, and the wings moved: shuddering, inviting little flicks, their edges twitching in the cool air. 

A rumbling growl, the dizzying squeeze of textured metal mesh and slick silicone, a screeched, “ah, oh, yes!” and there, again—flick, twitch, flutter. It was perfectly timed with the unconscious grip and flex of all his internal mechanisms, responding to both the stimulation of Megatron’s spike and his own pleasure. 

“Unh,” said Starscream, very eloquently. He threw his own not-inconsiderable body weight back against Megatron with a crash of metal. His engine snarled again, shaking the berth beneath them. “Harder,” he moaned, voice full of interference from his fans, “Come on, harder.” 

The wings moved restlessly. They were sharp and angular, geometrically perfect, and very pretty. They’d dent _just_ so under Megatron’s thick fingers. It wasn’t hard to bang dents out of a surface like that—but even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t last a day. No worse, he reasoned, than a bite. 

He shoved forward again and groaned at the feeling of Starscream’s drenched, hot, silky valve squeezing around his spike. Starscream made an answering noise. His wings fluttered. Megatron’s optics were hazy, but he could see the movement: pale, perfect shapes, waving temptingly just in view. 

Starscream really wouldn’t like it. 

“I said harder,” Starscream panted. “I know you can do it, you _useless_ pile of bol—” 

Megatron took his hand off the cherry red plating of his hip and grabbed the forward edge of his wing. 

Starscream _yowled_. It was hard to say whether it was in pleasure or pain, but whichever it was, he overloaded spectacularly when Megatron used the extra leverage to haul him back upon his spike with all of his strength. He could see the energon-pink crackle of it between the seams of his plating, feel the giddy rush of sudden overcharge flooding the sensors in his spike, a sharp and sudden bliss. 

In fact, he could even _hear_ the sharp crack of charge, which seemed odd— 

The next shriek was _definitely_ pain. 

Probably because, as Megatron had just been thinking, _charge_ didn’t really crack like that. 

Starscream’s frame heaved under him in a distinctly non-sexy way, and then there was a tremendous _clank_ that rang through Megatron’s helm, which he later realised was Starscream clobbering him in the head with his other wing. 

While he was still resetting his optics from the sudden blow to the head, Starscream scrambled off the berth. Megatron did not register what he was saying, only that he was saying it in the uppermost, audial-blistering, register of his voice. Starscream’s voice had a tendency to dissolve into a completely indecipherable wash of pain, once he hit a certain pitch. 

And the next thing he knew, Megatron was left all alone in his own berth, with a throbbing, wet spike and circuits painfully heavy with charge. 

* * *

“Do _not_ touch it,” hissed Starscream, which was much as he’d been hissing for days now. 

“I can see where it’s out,” Megatron said, much as he’d been saying for days now. 

The wing was dislocated. It was dislocated badly enough that—after he’d gotten over how Starscream had clobbered him in the face and left him without even an apology, let alone an overload—Megatron had not bothered to punish him for the tantrum he’d thrown about it. 

It was pretty dislocated. 

Starscream wasn’t _usually_ so fussy that he’d demand a medic when one wasn’t stationed with them for something so minor, but that was what was happening. It would have to be Hook—who was back on Cybertron, assisting the other Constructicons in an off-world matter and therefore not present upon the teeming organic cesspit that was Sol-3—or nobody. 

“Fuel: low. Raid: necessary,” said Soundwave… 

…much as _he’d_ been saying for days now. 

“Not _now_ , Soundwave,” snapped Megatron. 

Soundwave went silent, which was just what Megatron had intended. However, Soundwave really excelled at communicative silences. Just, an absolute champion at long, telling pauses. 

The current silence felt distinctly judgemental. 

Megatron ground his teeth. He pointed a finger at Soundwave. “I said _not now_.” 

“He’s not saying anything! Are you _glitching_?” Starscream’s pretty face twisted when he sneered. “That would explain a lot. And get your hands off me. You’ve done _plenty_.” His injured wing ticked, quite out of time with the functioning one. 

One of the things Megatron liked most about Starscream was how mean he was. 

But he mostly liked that when it was directed at _someone else_. 

“It’s hardly my fault if your wings are such shoddy workmanship—” This was probably not the right tactic to ensure future overloads, but Megatron was getting sick of him. 

Starscream made a noise like a smelter running too hot. “ _Shoddy workmanship_?” he screamed. 

Soundwave gave a long, and fairly rude, binary beep of frustration and then turned on one foot and disappeared down a corridor. 

Starscream’s fist slammed into Megatron’s chest plates, like a hammer. It jolted him, but neither hurt nor damaged. Starscream wouldn’t have had the power behind it even if he was using his full strength. “ _I_ am the finest frame in this _entire_ army.” 

_Well._

_Thump_. Another bang on his armour. 

Megatron should put a stop to that, of course: even if it was harmless, he should discourage attempts at injuring him. 

And he would. 

Any second now. 

“You just refuse to _appreciate it_ properly,” Starscream was whining, darkly. 

Megatron heaved a sigh, all of his vents cracking open and cycling the air in one warm gust before closing again. 

This time he grabbed Starscream’s arm before his hand could make contact with the armour of his chest plates. “Starscream," he growled through his vents, deep and echoing, "I have been patient with—” 

“ _When was that_?” Starscream wondered loudly. 

Megatron twitched. 

Starscream yanked on his captive arm. Megatron tightened his grip, until he could see the flinching expression of discomfort around Starscream’s glaring optics. 

“I have been patient with this _nonsense_ ,” Megatron went on, blowing hot air from his vents. “And presently I will become _irritated_.” He gave ‘irritated’ sufficient emphasis that it should have sounded ominous, even to Starscream, but there was only a flicker of uncertainty in him before he squared up. 

“I’m not letting you lay your filthy paws on my wings again! Look what you did last time! It can wait for a medic.” He sounded very flat and very implacable. 

Decepticons had a lot of leeway for denying themselves medical care—not least because generally, Decepticon medics didn’t have the patience required to coax someone into care. A soldier could be (and had been) ordered to report for any of Shockwave’s obscene experiments, but in terms of actual healthcare, there was, if not an explicit rule, certainly a culture of autonomy in medical decision making. 

Megatron glowered down at Starscream. 

Starscream glowered right back up at him. 

He was, it must be said, significantly smaller than Megatron. You could always bet on Starscream in any one on one conflict in the skies, or on the ground against someone in his own weight class—but they didn’t _make_ many war frames in Starscream’s weight class. 

Some expression must have crossed Megatron’s face, because he saw the wariness unfurl in Starscream’s expression. 

“I see,” said Megatron. 

Then he moved. Starscream wasn’t quite quick enough. It _might_ have had something to do with the dislocated wing, weighing down one side like so much dead metal. 

Of course Starscream thrashed. 

Melodramatically. As was his way. 

His voice rang in Megatron’s audials—was that _horrible screech_ an unstudied outlier ability? he wondered, not for the first time—but Megatron was far too heavy for him to throw him off, not with all his tremendous weight right on his back. 

“Stay still,” Megatron bellowed, barely loud enough to be heard over the racket Starscream was making, “or else I really will damage it.” 

This, unsurprisingly, stilled Starscream. Megatron took it as proof that he knew how unreasonable he was being, and that all this caterwauling and thrashing was entirely performative. 

Sliding the dislocated part into the right connector was mechanically simple, but it required precision and a fair amount of main strength. The whine that escaped Starscream’s engine while Megatron steadily increased the pressure on the injured joint was almost certainly _not_ performative. That was real pain, and it made him subtly uncomfortable to hear it—not that it stopped him. 

Starscream was just an idiot who didn’t know what was good for him. 

The dislocated mechanism slid into its connector with an ugly _pop_. 

Starscream jolted. The wing, finally, twitched in unison with its twin. 

“There,” said Megatron, sitting back, satisfied. 

“Get off me before you break my spinal strut, too,” snarled Starscream. 

That was gratitude for you, Megatron supposed. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked something! Let me know in a comment?


End file.
